Calling a cab and going wherever you need to go, wouldn’t you agree, it’s so easy and convenient? But what if it’s not an ordinary cab? And it will take you not to where you want to go… but to death.
Hobo Tommy
Tommy McIntosh got drunk again at the roadside bar and waddled to the toilet. He was followed by Amber, the local redheaded slut who fucked everyone. It was her job – the only way she could make a living. The girl had been drinking too and saw in Tommy someone who would give her ten bucks for a blow job. She followed him into the toilet, which smelled like urine and vomit. But those were familiar odors to her. The slut hugged Tommy from behind and started stroking his cock through his pants.
– What are you doing, whore? What do you want from me? – Tommy muttered.
– You got ten bucks for me? I’d make you good. I know how to do good.
– I only have five, – Tommy lied, realizing the bitch would settle for one dollar.
– That’ll do it. Take your pants off. Hurry up before someone else gets here.
– Wait. Let me at least take a piss, – he shoved her and turned away and started pouring piss on the toilet and everything around it.
When he turned back to Amber, she was already on her knees. Grabbing the man’s flaccid cock, she stroked and tugged it until it came to life a little. Taking the cock in her mouth, the redheaded girl started slurping loudly. She didn’t care what it smelled or tasted like – money was what she was interested in. Tommy waited until his cock was hard in the slut’s mouth before he forced her to get on all fours. On the dirty floor in a doggie style position he entered her from behind. Tommy hadn’t had sex in a long time, but he remembered what to insert and where to insert it. He took hold of the moaning Amber and started pounding her pussy hard. It didn’t take Tommy long, and he quickly cum on the slut’s beautiful ass. After wiping his cock on her hair, he tossed her five bucks like a bone to a dog and left for the street.
Satisfied Tommy walked down the deserted road in the direction of what he thought was his shack. Occasionally some cars passed by, but no one was going to stop and pick up the drunkard. The first frost had already reached this area and the nights were cold. Tommy sobered up from this cold. He began to realize that he might die on the way home if he didn’t warm up in someone’s car. The man became a little scared when a cab stopped next to him and he immediately calmed down. Tommy still had twenty bucks in his pocket and that should be enough for the ride home. Satisfied, he jumped into the back seat and the cab started up.
The strange driver was silent and slowly drove forward. Where was he going? Tommy was still under the influence of alcohol, but still sensed something was wrong.
– Hey, man! Don’t you want to ask me where I should be going? – Tommy’s tone was too cocky for someone who could just freeze on the road.
– It’s okay, Tommy, – the man behind the wheel replied in a husky voice. – I know where you’re going. We’re almost there.
Tommy was dumbfounded. He tried to figure out from the voice who the driver was and how he knew his name. Had this cabbie given him a ride before when he was in a drunken stupor? Or maybe this driver was an acquaintance from his past life… a normal life when he had a job, a wife and no alcohol. Time passed. Minute after minute, but Tommy never realized this guy was driving a yellow cab.
– I’m sorry, do I know you? I just can’t seem to recognize your voice.
– You don’t know me, Tommy. But I do know you… I know you very well, – it was as if the man behind the wheel’s voice had become even more husky and deep, – Your life is going downhill. You agree with me?
– What the fuck? Are you a driver or a therapist? – the drunken man roared. He didn’t like to be lectured.
– I’m your carrier. You can call me Haron, – the cab driver reacted calmly to the passenger’s anger.
– It’s a stupid name. I’ll call you Heron. Hee-hee. You like that, huh?
– I don’t care. Name me whatever you want.
– And I don’t have any money, and I’m not paying you a dime, – Tommy lied, realizing he wouldn’t freeze to death on the street, even if this guy dropped him off now.
– I don’t want your money. But you’re going to pay anyway. You bet I will.
The cab turned off the road into the woods. Slowly it picked up speed. The headlights went out. The lights in the cab were out, too, so Tommy was seriously scared. He tried to tear off the netting that separated him from the driver and grab him, but he couldn’t. He tried to open the doors, but they were locked. Tommy didn’t know what was happening…
– You had it all: a good job, a wife you loved, friends. You gave it all up for a bottle of whiskey. Now your life was worthless. Nobody wants you, – was a truth Tommy wasn’t ready to hear. Though he had thought about it many times himself. In those moments when he wanted to kill himself. But now he wanted to live. He could change. To be the same and start over… – It’s too late, Tommy.
It’s a strange case
– Tommy McIntosh, 43 years old, single, no kids… just a regular drunk, like hundreds of them in this town, – Detective Jones said as he reviewed the man’s information.
– You think it’s a suicide, too? – Detective Palmer, a large man with gray hair on his temples, asked him, – Did he just jump off that cliff? Or maybe someone helped him?
– I don’t think so, – Jones answered at once, – He’s a drunk, a hooligan, and soon to be a hobo. I think that’s enough to kill himself. He went to a bar. Got drunk. Fucked that slut Amber. Then he went home, but he went to the cliff. Sat. Thought about it. And jumped. It’s over. Case solved. Let’s go to the diner.
– I don’t know, Palmer kept his brain on. He kept thinking, even when it seemed simple and straightforward, – Don’t you see the coincidence that three people have already committed suicide here? In the last month.
– Yeah, well, it’s a suicide cliff, so what? Everybody’s got some kind of problem. It’s not fashionable to take pills or jump the noose. It’s way cooler to jump off a cliff and become part of an urban legend.
– What legend?
– You don’t know? You know, the one about the cabbie who died here about ten years ago.
– No, I haven’t heard of it, – Palmer started going through the stories from the other detectives in his head, but he couldn’t find one about the cabbie. – You forget I only moved here three years ago.
– There’s not much to tell. Anyway, some suicidal junkie got into the cab and threatened the guy with a knife and forced him to steer the cab off this very cliff. Poor guy died on his first day of work.
– Yeah, well, I don’t believe in ghosts and urban legends.
– Neither do I, which is why I’m saying the case is closed. This Tommy guy killed himself. End of story. Let the morgue deal with him now.
Sixth sense
The detectives went to the café for breakfast and then went to work. Palmer spent the day working on paperwork, but he couldn’t forget about Tommy. It was strange. Today Tommy, last week Rocky, before that Mick and that guy with the facial tattoos… I forget what his name was. Pretty weird. Intuition never failed Palmer. He felt he needed to hit this road again and take a look around. After waiting until evening, he got into his auto and headed to a bar off the road. From there he drove down the deserted road as suddenly his car stalled. His cell phone turned off. “What the hell is this?” – thought Detective Palmer. He sat in the auto for an hour, maybe more, but no one ever drove by. It was getting cold. He got out, pulled up the warm collar of his jacket, and walked slowly back along the road. Suddenly the bright lights of a car appeared in the distance – it was a cab. Stopping it, the man got into the back seat and said:
– What good timing, old boy. It’s very cold outside, and my car’s broken down…..
– I know, Andrew, – the man replied calmly with a husky voice, – It’s okay. I’ll take you where you wanted to go so badly.
– You know me? – Detective Palmer felt uneasy, – Can I see some ID, old man? I’m a detective and…
– Yeah, I know. But I don’t have any I.D. I haven’t had any for a long time.
– Then stop the car. Otherwise, I’m going to have to use my weapon, – Andrew Palmer pulled out his Colt 1911 and pointed it at the cabbie, but he wasn’t afraid, – In the name of the law, I’m ordering you to stop. The guy behind the wheel didn’t care. He was stepping on the gas and had already turned off the road into the woods. The detective pulled the trigger, pointing the gun through the grill at the driver’s shoulder, but he didn’t fire. “What the hell is this?” – For the second time that evening, he thought.
– A waste of time. Andrew, you’re a good man. But you weren’t always, were you? You used to deal hard drugs, and you used to do ecstasy yourself. You weren’t exactly a good person back then.
– How do you know all this? Who are you?
– You can call me Haron. Or whatever you like. I know everything about you. And even what you were doing that night in the bathroom after your girlfriend injected herself too much.
Palmer grabbed himself sharply by the arm. It was muscle memory, nothing more. But it made him remember that night vividly. The dead girl in the bedroom. Lots of powder and ecstasy around. He sits in the bathroom, crying and about to slit his wrists. He makes the cut and then quickly bandages his arm and runs away. Then he was so close to ending it all.
– What do you want? Money for not talking or something? – Palmer spoke in a low voice.
– ‘No, I don’t want your money. I want something else.
The cab picked up speed quickly. A large cliff loomed ahead. The Suicide Cliff. The lights went out and all the detective could ask was:
– Stop! You’re going to die too, aren’t you?
– I’m already dead.
Part of the urban legend
– Andrew Palmer, 46, single, no children… God, Andrew, why did you do it? – Detective Jones couldn’t believe that his colleague and friend was lying in front of him. Why had he committed suicide? Or was he really right and there was something wrong? It didn’t matter anymore. Detective Palmer had become part of an urban legend…not the first, and far from the last.